


A Little Bit of Santa

by TigerMoon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mall Santa Claus, Secret Santa, a little touch of hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 14:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerMoon/pseuds/TigerMoon
Summary: Playing Santa at the local mall was just supposed to be a quick gig to get money for the girls' Christmas presents. But all the Santa training couldn't prepare Qrow for this, a handsome single father with sad honey-brown eyes and a child in a Hanukkah sweater, asking for the impossible.Good thing Christmas was the season of miracles.





	A Little Bit of Santa

**Author's Note:**

> Ozqrow Secret Santa time~! This was written for cloqworkbird on Tumblr. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Have a happy holidays~!

_I don't want a lot for Christmas_ __  
_There's just one thing I need_ __  
_I don't care about the presents_ _  
_ _Underneath the Christmas tree_

 

Qrow Branwen tried to eye the dwindling line of families lining up for pictures with Santa through the wild white puff of his fake beard. Hell, he decided, was made of this—polyester red velvet coat and pants; fake pleather boots two sizes two big; pillows strapped to his skinny birdie waist; and an acrylic wig and beard in white ringlets, practically glued to his head by sweat and a hat that seemed determined to keep every bit of hot air trapped against his scalp. He sat on a throne build of foam and wood and lies while insipid Christmas music blared over the mall’s PA system. One child had kneed him in the crotch, two had puked and three kids had pissed on him today alone, and it wasn’t even 4PM yet.

 

Yeah. Being Santa Claus was fucking _fantastic_.

 

The ‘elf’ at his side—Velvet, he thought her name was—nudged him in the side and flashed one finger when he glanced over.

 

Just one more kid, and he could put this shitshow behind him for another day.

 

 _I don’t care how much money this gig brings_ , he thought to himself as Velvet brought the last kid forward, _it’s not worth all this_.

 

Except it was. There wouldn’t even _be_ a Christmas this year, if he hadn’t landed this job. Money was tight. Tai had his teaching job at the high school, but teachers got shit pay and Qrow, well—AA was a bitch but having a drunk driving record was an even _bigger_ bitch, so he took whatever jobs he could to supplement the household income. And while bouncing at a gay bar on the weekends was a fun gig, it didn’t pay much.

 

So, this. Hell, by way of impersonating a creepy old fat man.

 

Sighing, he nodded (how could anyone even see it under all the crap he was wearing) and Coco, his other happy ‘elf’, lifted the little boy onto his lap. The kid was light for his size—or, at least, what Qrow could judge. Cute kid. Tanned skin, dark hair, freckles, probably no older than Ruby. Instead of the usual tacky Christmas sweater he was wearing an even tackier blue-and-gold sweater with dancing dreidels that loudly proclaimed _THIS IS HOW I ROLL_ _._

 

Well, that was unexpected. Santa classes had _not_ prepared him for this.

 

“Uh… hey there, kid,” Qrow said instead, dropping his voice low and gruff.

 

The kid blinked back at him, hazel-green eyes wide and fascinated. “Uncle Hazel said you never come by our house ‘cause you hate Jews,” he said with all the innocence and gravity a five-year-old could muster.

 

Someone—probably Coco—choked behind him. Qrow gaped.

 

“Oscar, _no_ ,” said a muffled voice in front of him. A man, with his head in his hands—probably the kid’s father. Still. This was the most entertainment he’d gotten in the past week. A Jewish kid, sassing Saint Nick?

 

 _Priceless_.

 

“Nah, Oscar,”—and the startled look of the kid as he said his name was even better. “Y’see, I made a deal with Jewish parents all over the world. You guys get eight nights of presents as long as I don’t have to make eight nights of trips around the world. I send it all FedEx.” He poked the kid in the tummy just to make him giggle. “I keep telling Christians I’d do the same for them but they think they’re too good for it, so they just get one night.”

 

“ _They only get one night of presents?!_ ” Oscar whispered in horror.

 

“Only one.”

 

“Lame.”

 

A snort of laughter from Jew Dad. Bonus. A lot of the parents tended to be stuck up or in a hurry, so it was nice to hear one be a bit more relaxed. “Ho, ho, _ho_ yes. So, Oscar. Since we got that out of the way, what did you want to see jolly ol’ Saint Nick about?”

 

Oscar began to fidget, his shoulders drawing up about his ears. “Um,” he started, then stopped, chewing on his knuckle. Hesitant until his father nodded at him, then all in a rush, clutching onto Qrow’s battered velvet coat: “I know we don’t do Christmas but—but Daddy said _he_ can’t make mir’cles so maybe _you_ can, ‘cause you’re _Santa_ and you’re _magic_ and—“

 

“Oh no,” came the voice again, so soft and sad Qrow almost missed it.

 

Qrow held up a gloved hand. “Slow down, kiddo,” he said gently. “What is it you want? I don’t usually do Hanukkah but I can try.”

 

“I want a _friend_ , Mr. Santa.”

 

A soft _oh_ behind him (Velvet was too damn empathetic for her own good), but what Qrow’s gaze went to was Jew Dad, paralyzed in front of him. Still couldn’t see his face entirely, but for a pair of scratched and tinted glasses under a mop of wavy silver hair. With Oscar pulling at the ends of his beard, enough of the hair went away for him to see details, too, like the unraveled ends of his forest green sweater and the patches on his jeans, the threadbare scarf about his neck—in stark contrast to his child’s new and well-kept clothing, a tiny winter coat tucked under his arm. His heart sank like a rock, because _fuck_.

 

He knew that look. He saw it every day, in the mirror, in Tai. When taking care of himself was far less important than taking care of his kids.

 

“I don’t gots no friends at school,” Oscar was saying, and he looked back down at the kid before he could be caught staring. “E’rybody laughs at me and nobody wants to play with me and Daddy tries really _really_ hard but it’s not the same and I’ve been _super_ good so can I have a friend? _Please?_ ”

 

Qrow laid a gloved hand on the boy’s head. “… kinda hard to put a person under a menorah, kiddo,” he said. “I only deliver during Christmas. But I’ll do my best.”

 

Oscar stared gravely at him, then leaned forward. “Can you get my daddy a friend too?” he whispered.

 

What.

 

The question must have been written all over his face because Oscar pulled himself up—dislodging the beard for a blessed moment—and stared Qrow in the face.

 

“’Cause he’s the best daddy in the whole wide world and he gets lonely and I’ll give up my friend if I gotta! But Daddy pretends he's happy when he’s really sad, and he’s sad _all the time_ , Santa. So please?”

 

Well shit. How could he say no to that?

 

“I’ll do my best,” he repeated. “But first, you’ve got to sit down. You’re stepping on Santa’s bag of presents.”

 

“… oops?”

 

Which, of course, was the perfect time for Coco to take the photo.

 

Merry Christmas, Jew Dad.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes after that little disaster and Qrow was free of the suit and the beard and would be free of the awful Christmas music (“Baby It’s Cold Outside” was playing for what had to have been the thirty-seventh time) as soon as the stoner behind the Starbucks kiosk finished making his coffee. The commuter bus would be swinging by soon, sweet freedom.

 

It was while he was finally getting his grande black coffee that he caught it, a flash of blue and gold and tattered green out of the corner of his eye. Heading his way. The kid—Oscar, he was pretty sure he remembered—looked a lot cheerier, but that might have been the ice cream he had half-smeared on his face. And Jew Dad—

 

Qrow ducked his head to hide his sudden blush.

 

Jew Dad was _hot_.

 

Now that he didn’t have half a ton of acrylic wig hair blocking his vision, he could see him clearly. Taller than Qrow, with platinum hair and pale skin; faint freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose just barely visible in the artificial lighting. Soft, unfairly full lips for a man, a strong, pointed chin, but what drew him were those eyes. Deep honey eyes under dark brows, lined with stress and framed by long lashes. Eyes full of love as he gazed down at his son toddling along beside him, even as the kid dripped a glob of ice cream on his battered old oxfords. Eyes full of love and so much sadness that it hurt to watch; Qrow looked down, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

 

But looking down didn’t help either, as dear _God_ the man had gorgeous long legs and the jeans just emphasized what Qrow considered a very nice—

 

“Excuse me?”

 

—voice. A very nice voice. That was being directed at him.

 

Qrow looked up, startled at how very near those tired honeyed eyes were to his. “Uh, sorry…?”

 

“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your thinking, but,” and the man waved, “I need to get some napkins? My son’s made a bit of a mess.”

 

Behind him, another bit of Oscar’s soft serve fell to the floor with a _splat_.

 

Oh. And there Qrow was in front of the kiosk, cockblocking everyone from the condiments and shit. “Nah. It—it’s my bad, man. It’s fine.” He reached behind him and grabbed a huge sheaf of napkins. “Uh—here,” and he stuffed the wad into the other man’s (nice, warm) hands.

 

No ring on his finger either. He held on long enough to check.

 

“I, ah… thank you,” the man said. He flushed, just a bit, a soft laugh escaping him. Smiling. And fuck if his whole face didn’t get even more gorgeous when he smiled.

 

And then—

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t even get his _name?!_ ”

 

Taiyang put his hands on his hips with a huff, the ladle in his hand spattering soup across the floor. “The hell, Qrow? Since when are you all shy?”

 

“Since I started fuckin’ playing goody-two-shoes _Santa_ , apparently!” Qrow groaned and let his head thud against the kitchen table. “I was _so close_. If he hadn’t had his kid with him…!”

 

Tai hummed to himself, turning back to the soup pot. “And you said the kid was Jewish?”

 

“Yeah?“

 

“What did the dad look like?”

 

“Hot.”

 

“ _Qrow._ ”

 

Qrow sighed. “Silver hair? But he’s not old, just… he’s our age. Broad but thin. Got eyelashes a chick would kill for. Brown eyes. Nice lips. Nicer ass. What—“

 

Tai paused. “Did he wear glasses?”

 

“… yeah. Yeah, actually. Weird little tinted things. Tai, what does it even matter? I’m never gonna see the guy again.”

 

“But would you like to?”

 

His brain blanked.

 

“Huh?”

 

Tai stared at him, a pitying smile on his face. “Would you like. To see him again.”

 

His heart stuttered and leapt in his chest. He swore his mouth went dry. “I—“ he stuttered. “But I didn’t even—I don’t even know his… Tai?”

 

The blonde laughed and slipped an envelope on the table in front of him. “Don’t say I never did you any favors, Qrow.”

 

* * *

 

Jew Dad’s name was Ozpin Pine.

 

Tai had signed up for some stupid Secret Santa thing with the local PTA, for parents with kids in preschool to second grade. Yang was in second grade, and Ruby was miserable in her current kindergarten. They’d started her late, and couldn’t get her into Beacon Academy, so had to go with public schools—but public schools were ill-equipped for a spitfire princess who preferred to battle the other knights rather than be a pretty lady and wait to be saved. Beacon would have an opening after the winter break, thankfully. But all that meant Tai had to keep up with school goings on, so—the PTA.

 

Qrow usually made fun of him for it. Now he was thanking whatever deity he thought might be listening that Tai was so involved.

 

The Secret Santa form was pretty simple: a few details, a selfie, and a short list of gift ideas. The gift list had been filled out with calligraphic precision, letters small and neat in green ink. He marveled at it for a moment, running his fingers over the paper before turning it over and reading.

 

The top of the page was a form letter:

 

_Your PTA Secret Santa recipient is: ____ Ozpin Pine____! Please be sure to look over their wishlist included with this note, though please note that the wishlist is meant to be a guideline only. There is a strict minimum of $20 for gifts being given and a maximum of $50. Please stay within these limits._

 

Below that was a tabulated space with questions for the parents to fill out. Ozpin was 32, divorced, had one child in kindergarten. Taught AP English Lit and English Comp at Beacon High School—and wasn’t that a sign of patience, to teach _teenagers_. That was all… but Taiyang, ever the gossip, had filled out the blanks.

 

“ _I’ve talked to him a few times at the teachers’ lounge. Nice guy. Quiet. Nasty divorce, his ex apparently cleaned him out of everything and left the country. According to the French teacher he’s bi as hell and that played a part in the divorce… oh, and he’s a coffee snob. I said once that Folgers was just as good as drip and you’d think I told him I killed kittens for fun…._ ”

 

Being snobby over coffee? Tai had shit taste in… everything, honestly, and Qrow understood being picky. He’d been something of a whiskey connoisseur before he’d started going to AA. He still swore that Jack Daniels was utter garbage.

 

That, and Folgers was about as appetizing as drinking hot mud.

 

Chuckling to himself, Qrow flipped the paper over. The back of the sheet had the wishlist printed. The first part was supposed to list the recipient’s clothing sizes. Ozpin had filled it out… but the sizes he’d listed didn’t make sense.

 

The lump in his throat came back again. No, they made sense now. But only if he were a very tiny man. Perhaps the size of a sassy, freckled-cheeked five-year-old.

 

Qrow scanned down the wishlist. It was extremely simple: a sweater, gloves, a pom-pom hat, warm socks. Every parent also had a place to request something specifically for their children—Tai had put in a request for Play-Doh—and Ozpin had put something there too, in careful lettering:

 

_A realistic plush owl. Oscar’s very fond of birds._

 

Just a few words, but the addition of _why_ made it special, somehow. Ozpin had been so very attentive when they’d seen Santa, and then all this, going out of his way to ensure there would be more gifts for his son. It was—incredibly attractive, Qrow couldn’t lie to himself, but there was something else there. Something more, caught in the hint of honey brown eyes, a coffee addiction, and the love of a father for his son.

 

_Can you get my daddy a friend too?_

 

“Already on it, kid,” he grinned.

 

* * *

 

“I’m so sorry to hear Taiyang couldn’t make it. But we’re… glad... you could!”

 

Qrow put on his best grin as Yang and Ruby hung off his leather jacket. “Yeah, well, he sends his regrets but—better for him not to be here. Ate something he shouldn’t have and—“ He made a wobbly motion around his stomach. “You don’t wanna know.”

 

“Know what?” Ruby asked as the haughty woman—Willow, her name badge read— curled her lip in revulsion.

 

“Yes. Well. We do have a hand sanitizing station near the hors d’ouerves if you need it.” She forced a thin-lipped smile. “If you need help finding your Secret Santa, I’m sure one of the parents would be happy to help you. If you’ll excuse me.”

 

He snorted and walked past where she’d left into the little classroom, the gift tucked safely under his arm. Hors d’ouerves his ass—there were finger foods and cookies laid out on a low table, clearly made or bought by tired parents. Some kind of kid-friendly punch in a plastic bowl in the middle. A splash of red on the carpet showed where some overeager kid had already knocked it over once. Adults milled about in loose groups, blithely ignoring the little rugrats running around screaming.

 

The things he did in the pursuit of… whatever this was.

 

Ruby tugged him towards the cookies; Yang pulled him the opposite way. “Uncle Qrow, I wanna go play with my friends,” she whined.

 

“Nooo, Yang, you promised you’d stay with me! Uncle Qrow, she _promised_.”

 

“Go on, firecracker. Just don’t kill anyone,” he said with a smirk, and maneuvered Ruby towards the cookies before she could start crying. It wasn’t like it would take much to distract her. A few handfuls of chocolate chip and she’d be content for a while. Or at least until the sugar kicked in. Whatever.

 

It was actually a little eerie how many kids he recognized there. Not the parents; he could never see the parents well through the Santa fluff. But hey, there was the redheaded girl who’d bit him when he’d told her a sledgehammer was not an appropriate gift for a kid, clinging to an Asian kid who’d asked for gardening tools. He didn’t recognize the black-haired girl Yang was talking to, but he did recognize the other one, with hair so blonde it was almost white—she’d declared him to be a fake, so loudly that kids in the line had begun crying. Good times.

 

But no sign just yet of—

 

“I’m sorry, but are there any napkins left there?”

 

Ozpin.

 

He looked—gorgeous, of course he did, nose and ears red from the cold and wavy hair tousled by the wind. An emerald green button-down (threadbare at the cuffs and collar) under a black herringbone sweater vest, worn jeans and oxfords, made him look every bit the high school teacher. But his eyes were wide and staring at Qrow with an intensity that startled him.

 

“Have we met before?” Ozpin asked.

 

In reply, Qrow grabbed the entire stack of napkins and shoved them into Ozpin’s hands. He blinked, then let out a startled, delighted laugh.

 

“The Starbucks at the mall. I thought—well.”

 

Qrow grinned. “Yeah. Fancy meeting you here, huh?”

 

“Quite. Oh, here, Oscar. Remember, small sips—don’t try to chug it all at once.” He stooped down to the kid at his side, wiping spilled punch from his cheeks and the front of his sweater. Not that Oscar paid him any mind—he was staring at Ruby.

 

Ruby stared right back, her cheeks stuffed full of cookie. “Daddy says I’m gonna go to kinnergarden here after Kissmas,” she managed, spraying crumbs all over Qrow’s pants leg.

 

“Kindergarten,” Oscar corrected. “It’s OK. We have lots of books and we’re getting another gerbil next year ‘cause our old one died—“

 

Qrow bit his lip to keep from grinning. Perfect. “Hey, Oscar, you go to kindergarten here, right? Maybe you could show Ruby around?”

 

“Yeah!” she cheered, snagging his hand. “Let’s go play!”

 

Ozpin nodded. “Go on and have fun, Oscar. Just be careful not to get underfoot.”

 

The little boy’s face split in a huge grin, and they ran off. Ozpin watched them go, his face softening into a worried smile. “Thank you for suggesting that. Oscar’s… having trouble making friends his own age. It’s nice to see him happy.”

 

“Yeah, well… let’s just say one of Santa’s helpers gave me a hint.” He winked at the taller man, the grin broadening as a faint blush spread over his cheeks. “I’m Qrow, by the way. Qrow Branwen. And you’re Ozpin Pine.” He gestured out over across the room, where empty folding chairs lined the wall.

 

“How did you—

 

“Not every day Santa Qrow gets a Jewish kid snarking at him. Not gonna lie, that kinda made my day.”

 

A sudden look of comprehension dawned on Ozpin; he sat down next to Qrow, their knees just barely touching. “You’re quite good at disguising your voice. But then, at the coffee shop—“

 

“I wasn’t trying to stalk you. Honest.” He laughed and threaded a hand through greying hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “I just needed coffee, and not the awful instant crap Tai drinks.”

 

A snort of laughter escaped Ozpin, full lips parted in an incredulous smile. “You’re Taiyang’s brother-in-law,” he said. “I wouldn’t have guessed. He usually describes you as—well.”

 

“As what?”

 

“It’s better if you pretend I said nothing there.”

 

“Oh no, Oz. What’s my _bother_ -in-law saying about me behind my back?”

 

A softer laugh. His whole expression opened up so much at that, _Oz_ , as if being referred to so fondly was a rare and special honor. It warmed something deep within Qrow’s chest, seeing that and knowing he’d done it. “He merely described you as being rather… rough and tumble.”

 

“Uh-huh. I see how it is.” But he was laughing too now, bumping Oz’s knee with his own. “Look. I’m glad I ran into you like this, you know. Like—almost every kid in here, I’ve seen come through, telling shit to Santa. And most of ‘em, they want the same thing. Toys. Money. Greedy shit.”

 

“Children that age haven’t quite developed a sense that other people truly exist as separate beings,” Ozpin admonished, but he was listening intently, leaned forward with eyes intent under the mop of silver hair.

 

“Yeah? Maybe so. But still. Only a few ask for the impossible. For Mommy and Daddy to stop fighting, or for Fido to come back from heaven. But even they’re happy to be redirected into toys. Nothing I can do anything about other than make sure their parents hear them making the requests. But then you and your kid come along.” Qrow glanced back over the room. Between the milling crowds he could see two little kids crowded around a box of building blocks, both grinning and laughing. “And he asks for something I can actually help with. Kinda makes a guy feel special.”

 

Ozpin hummed, ducking his head. “A friend. I’ve done my best, but… well. Oscar’s mother leaving hurt him very badly. And while I can be his friend to an extend, I am his parent first and foremost.”

 

“I get it. Ruby was really tiny when her mom passed, but she’s got kinda the same problem. I don’t mind—I’m the fun uncle—but people need friends their own age.” Qrow pulled a battered and haphazardly wrapped present out from under his arm. “Which reminds me… Happy Hanukkah. Or is that over now? Whatever. Gifts.”

 

“I—“ Ozpin gingerly took it, looking from it to Qrow in surprise before letting it rest on his knees. “The Secret Santa? Thank you.”

 

“Go on, open it. Trust me.”

 

He paused, looking back at where Oscar and Ruby were playing, then began picking the paper apart. Qrow watched, trying to quell the butterflies in his stomach.

 

It wasn’t a huge box, but inside was another wrapped gift—“To Oscar” written on a tag stuck to it, which he laid aside gently. But the rest was definitely not what he’d asked for. There were gloves and a hat and sweater sized for a little kid, yes, but below them, folded tightly, was a winter coat just a bit too big for a man Ozpin’s size. “I can’t,” Ozpin began, the color draining from his face, only for Qrow to raise a hand.

 

“Look,” he said. “I get it. You want your son to have the best holiday season he can. But you have to take care of yourself too. It’s really not as special as it looks, I promise—“

 

Ozpin put a hand on Qrow’s wrist, squeezing. “Thank you,” he said, voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you so much.”

 

On the other side of the room, Ruby and Oscar began chasing Yang and her friends around, their merry squeals echoing. Qrow took his hand and squeezed back. “Santa’s got to do his job, after all,” he said with a wink.

 

“… in that case...” His cheeks flushed, highlighting the pale freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Would Santa like to go out for coffee some time?”

 

Qrow’s breath caught in his chest. “Yeah,” he choked, grinning. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

 

* * *

 

_~One Year Later~_

 

“Ho, ho, hooooly cow, you’ve put on some weight there, kiddo!”

 

Another year, another six weeks pretending to be a jolly fat creep.

 

The mall had sprung for a better quality wig and beard after the last one had proven to be disturbingly flammable, so there was one consolation, but the rest of the uniform was the same, itchy, sweaty hell Qrow remembered it to be. Same shitty music blaring over the loudspeakers, same screaming kids, same desire to run for the hills as soon as his shift was over.

 

But this year there was a new intensity to it. Life had changed. He’d gotten a new job, one that paid better and had more hours. Gotten his driver’s license back. Ruby was in the Beacon school system with her new ‘BFF’ Oscar, and the two were ruining gardens and teachers’ lives with the kind of havoc only two precocious six-year-olds could manage. Tai got a dog.

 

Qrow got a boyfriend.

 

One of them was clearly having a better year than the other.

 

Said boyfriend watched fondly from the appropriate distance as Oscar sat on Qrow’s lap, crossing his arms and pouting. This year’s tacky Hanukkah sweater proclaimed to ‘DECK THE HALLS WITH MATZO BALLS’. Nice. “Santaaaa,” he whined. “I grew! Of course I got fatter!”

 

“You said it, not me,” he said, causing Ozpin to double over and try to muffle his laughter with his hand. “Now. What can ol’ Saint Nick help you with this year, kid? Didn’t do enough miracles for you last year?”

 

Oscar leaned forward, his voice dropping into a whisper. “ _… I want two dads._ ”

 

Qrow huffed a laugh, tousling the boy’s head. “Yeah?” He glanced across the atrium—at the jewelry store and the diamond rings in the showcase.

 

At the ring he’d just finished paying for, waiting for Christmas Eve.

 

“Well. How can Santa say no to that?”

 


End file.
